We'll Do It Tomorrow
by The Silent Rumble
Summary: Have you ever told a child, 'we'll do it tomorrow,' and in your haste, not see his sorrow? DonAlan oneshot with a twist at the end... Very AU.


Have you ever told a child, "We'll do it tomorrow," and in your haste, not see his sorrow?

_Written when the boys were 12 and 15. Please R&R – No flames. AU. _

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"Alan!" Margaret called. "Can you take Don and Charlie to the playground?"

"I'm busy," Alan called. "Can't you?" he asked.

"I'm making supper and was hoping you could take them," Margaret replied, drying her hands on the dishtowel. "Don asked, and I told him you could take him."

"But I'm busy!" Alan said angrily as he typed some on the computer. "I don't understand what you can't see about doing to tomorrow, Don," he said, noticing the boy coming into the room.

Don kicked the wall. "Have you ever thought about this, Dad? You take Charlie everywhere. School, tutors – you don't want him to ride the bus. I can't walk to the playground because it's two miles away, but Charlie can go anywhere he wants!"

"Don, this is not the best time –" replied Alan, but Don interrupted him.

"Do you know where he went the other day –" Don started. He kicked the wall before finishing. "He went to the wrong end of town. The train tracks. Look, I'm mad, okay? You always have time for Charlie, but you never have time for me!"

"That's not true!" Alan protested, clenching his fists, not realizing he sounded more like a two-year-old then an adult.

"Yes, it is!" Don said, grabbing his bat. "You always have time for tutors and practice, but I have to walk to the park for _my_ practice, never mind that I can't go there any other time I want to. You always go to Charlie's math competitions, but you never have time for _my_ ballgames. You and Mom are going to send him to MY high school but you don't care that I don't like that idea!" Don ran outside in anger.

Alan sighed. "He doesn't understand –" he started to protest, but Margaret stopped him.

"Alan…" she said, "he's right."

"What do you mean?"

"You never go to his ballgames," Margaret said, "and you never help him with school. It's either work or Charlie – I haven't seen you do something with Don in nearly two years."

Alan sighed. "They're on inconvenient nights! The ballgames, I mean. Besides, you aren't exactly leaping to take Don to the park, now are you?" He snapped angrily.

"Well, maybe you should start making them convenient," Margaret snapped. "And I have been trying, _Alan_. _Trying_ is not the same as _doing_ but it's better then nothing. We both need to work on showing our love to Don, because I don't want to be sitting in the principal's office any more then I have to, and I'd prefer just for conferences, not for when he gets in trouble for acting out."

Alan sighed. "I guess you're right. I'll go talk to Don."

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"Don!" Alan called, catching up to him. "Why did you go all the way to the park when I told you not to?"

"Today's my ball game, Dad," Don said. "Or did you forget that too – like you continently _forget_ to come to my games because you're too busy with Charlie?"

"Your mother does come!" Alan protested.

"No, she doesn't," Don snapped. "Name one time she's come, wear as I bet I could name twenty times you've gone to Charlie's math competitions in the last week."

"Uh…" Alan was at a complete loss for this. He realized Don was right – he had been showing a lot more affection to Charlie because he was a genius and not Don, because Don could handle himself and didn't demand attention. Now he _was_ demanding it.

"Let's face it, Dad," Don said angrily, "All you care about is Charlie. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. 'Charlie's a genius.' 'Charlie, congratulations on the math test you got an A on. 'Oh, Don! You got an A-? Oh, well your _brother_ got an A+.' I'm sick of it! I am so sick of it."

"Don," Alan started to say, protesting Don's yelling spree, "you listen and you listen…" he trailed off. He nearly saw steam coming out of his son's ears. His face was red, and he was upset. Something told him that _now was not the time._

"I'm tired of listening, Dad," Don said quietly. "I've _listened_ my whole life. 'Don, set the table…' 'Don watch after your brother…' 'Don you should study more…' See where that's gotten me? A whole lot of damn nothing." He slipped the necklace off of his neck that his father had given him for his twelfth birthday – a sign of his father's promise to always take care of him. "Here. Take it. I'm done," he said, throwing it on the ground at Alan's feet. "Go to hell," he said, running off into the distance.

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Not the ending you were hoping for, huh? What'd you think? Let me know please.

Also, the line is taken from a poem called "Last Dance," that I got in my inbox. I borrowed it and the Numb3rs characters – neither of them are mine!


End file.
